Sentiment, an evil thing
by Tillthewheelsfalloff
Summary: Sequel to 'Big Brother' Probably read that first. 4 months after Mycroft's death Sherlock finally goes to the grave. One-Shot. Tissue Warning.


**AN: Just thought I'd put a follow up to Big Brother **

He could hear his heavy footsteps as he walked along the wet pavement, the rain splashed on him, around him, everywhere, but he didn't care it didn't matter.  
Nothing mattered as Sherlock pushed the soaked hair out of his eyes and focused forward, through the rain, through the fog.

_'Perfect weather for this.'_

Sherlock wasn't even sure if his own mental thought was sarcastic or serious.

He stepped off the pavement onto the mud listening to his squelching footsteps and immediately saw that someone else was here today, left 20 minutes ago judging by the footsteps, just after the rain started.

Sherlock went past the footsteps and further down the aisle. It was right at the end, beside a tree.

**'Mycroft Holmes'**

Sherlock stared down at the marble block. He just glared at it for at least a minute before his knees seemed to give way and he fell to his knees into the cold mud with his brother grave below him. He reached up a hand and trailed it across Mycrofts name, sentiment an evil thing.

"I know you did this on purpose." Sherlock found himself saying, "To prove a point. Well you've proved it. You can stop now." Sherlock furiously wiped a tear from his cheek, "You wanted to prove that I need you and I _do_! I didn't know before but I do. I need your annoying constant worry, your annoying ways you try and prove me wrong but yet try and show me off. I always found you annoying but you in fact made me stronger but not strong enough. Not yet."

Sherlock tried to wipe another tear away angrily but they wouldn't stop coming and he gave him letting the tears mix with the rain, salty in his mouth, a horrible taste.

**'All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage. Sherlock.'** his brother's words rang through his head.

It was so true and yet Sherlock couldn't help but to _care_!

To feel this horrible pain ripping through his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The thickness in his throat every time he thought about it.

_Sentiment_.

An evil thing.

At least when the one worth it was _gone_.

His brother.

_"But Croooooft!" 5 year old Sherlock moaned, "I wanna play Pirates!"  
_

_"And I have my first GCSE Exams next weeks." 12 year old Mycroft was already too smart for his own good.  
_

_"Exams are boring!"  
_

_"Yes but essential."  
_

_"Pirates are east-en-tail!"  
_

_"_Essential_." Mycroft corrected, "Where, may I ask, are they essential?"  
_

_"On beaches. See where else are people with metal detectors gonna find the metal?"  
_

_Mycroft smirked at his little brother logic, "Other people that are not pirates might drop something."  
_

_"Nothing as 'sepensive as a gold ring from 10th century!"_

_"No...but I very much doubt a pirate would drop something like that."_

_"They wouldn't care is they have the more 'spensive crown from the 7th Century!"  
_

_Mycroft allowed a full out grin at the seriousness on his little brothers face. "What about a black Umbrella/sword from the 2nd century?" Mycroft placed his books down and grabbed his umbrella standing tall above his brother.  
_

_"Not as good as a Silver sword from the 1st Century!" Sherlock gripped the grey plastic sword tight in his hand in front of his face as Mycroft swept out with __the umbrella, which Sherlock quickly blocked._

_"What if the umbrella had a blue sapphire gem on the en-oopf!" Mycroft glared as Sherlock managed to poke him in the stomach.  
_

_"Not as good as diamonds on the handle!" Sherlock grinned triumphantly as he blocked another attack, at least until Mycroft managed to get around the __sword and tap him on the head._

_"Ruby's on the umbrella handle." Mycroft suggested.  
_

_"Engraving from King Sherlock the 1st!"_

_"King Sherlock the first ay?"  
_

_"Mm hmm." Sherlock glared as Mycroft kept blocking his attack so he took a dive. Literally diving through Mycroft legs and stabbing him mid-back with the sword, Mycroft dramatically fell forward and turned to face Sherlock his eyes wide in mock fear.  
_

_"Do not hurt me kind sir!"  
_

_Sherlock placed a small foot on Mycrofts stomach testing it out before he placed the other foot there as well standing on Mycroft stomach and looked into his eyes, "Ha! King Sherlock rules over Peasant Croft!"  
_

_"Oh does he now?" Mycroft reached up his arm and began tickling Sherlock in the stomach until his brother fell over, accidently kicking Mycroft in the face but Mycroft ignored the light pain of an early bruise, "The only trouble is the peasant Croft knows King 'Locks most ticklish spots!"  
_

_"No! No! Croft! Stop! No!" Sherlock giggled half hysterically as he struggled to get away but Mycroft had pushed Sherlock off himself and was now sitting on Sherlocks back as he tickled Sherlocks foot mercilessly. "_CROFT_!"_

_"Only if you let me do my work!"_

_"_NEVER_!"_

_"Tickling it is," deciding to take Sherlocks sides where he was worse.  
_

_"No! No! Ok! You can work!"  
_

_"Promise?"_

_"Promise!"_

_"Good." Mycroft stood up ignored Sherlock poke him in the back. He allowed a smirk on his face as Sherlock watch Mycroft as he took his seat and began reading his book.  
_

_After a moment Sherlock scrambled onto the sofa and curled into Mycroft side, putting and arm around his brother Mycroft continued to work until their parents got home with dinner.  
_  
Sherlock smirked, as he got older he seemed to have forgotten how good Mycroft was to him, despite the tickling-which Sherlock would never admit to be ticklish-he still played pirates even if it was only a few minutes. Mycroft was always a good brother; Sherlock never appreciated it until now.

Now is too late.

Sherlock was never one for religion, he didn't believe that there was anything after death but right now he wished he did believe in _something_ just so that he could relish in the thought that Mycroft was in a better place.

Placing a hand on the grave Sherlock pulled himself up, he attempted to wipe at his eyes but there was no point as the rain washed away all his tears.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sherlock?" John said as Sherlock entered the flat still dripping wet and dropped on the sofa without getting dry.

"John."

"You're wet."

"Good deduction."

"Where did you go? In weather like this?"

"The graveyard."

"Ah," John was glad, Sherlock needed to go there. Mycroft had been buried for 4 months and Sherlock hadn't visited the grave once before now. He guessed it was time. "You should go get dry, try and warm up."

Sherlock stalked off for a shower but when he came back he found he was still shivering, "Come here." John ordered.

Sherlock obeyed without question standing in front of his best friend, John pointed to the seat beside him on the sofa and Sherlock took it. John felt his forehead, he was hot, "I think you may have a fever on its way. I don't think this weather was the best time to go."

"I preferred it."

John rolled his eyes; trust Sherlock to go for the pathetic fallacy.

"You should get some rest," John decided not to comment anymore on the weather, he couldn't change it now.

He expected Sherlock to either insist he was fine and attempt to do an experiment or to go to bed silently. What John hadn't expected was for Sherlocks head to loll to the side onto Johns shoulder and his body relaxed into to side of him. Not sure what else to do John moved slightly so he was more comfortable and moved Sherlock so his head was in his lap and he was more stretched out in a diagonal position on the sofa.

With that John found himself falling asleep, he dreamt that he, Sherlock and Mycroft were walking through a corn field and there was a small barn that was half built, all the tools and components were there so John took the brothers to it and they worked together to fix it up.

When they finished it was a white barn full of horses. All three of them took a horse and galloped off.

Little did he know, Sherlock dreamt the exact same thing, even down to the same colour horses.


End file.
